


Temperance - A Short Horror Story

by VirelaiSpades



Category: No Fandom
Genre: Blood and Gore, Character Death, Gen, Homophobia, Psychological Horror, Religious Conflict, Self-Harm, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:34:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22624894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VirelaiSpades/pseuds/VirelaiSpades
Summary: This is a horror story that came to me pretty much in its entirety in one night. I was inspired by the real life phenomenon of the Wick Effect and its relation to Spontaneous Combustion. I'd also like to say that I was very much inspired by other horror content such as Stories Untold, P.T., and Faith. However, this work doesn't exactly fit into the "fandom" of any of these pieces of media. I hope to make other short stories in a similar vein, but this story was the culmination of a lot of different themes and ideas that were bouncing around in my head at the time.





	Temperance - A Short Horror Story

**Author's Note:**

> I would like to preface this work with a bit of a disclaimer:  
> This short story does not reflect my own views on religion, and it shouldn't be used as an argument on the topic. I believe horror requires an exaggeration of reality to create something scary, uncomfortable, or intimidating. The motif of religion is used for this purpose, and to draw parallels to real life phenomena. 
> 
> I am a queer writer, and an active member of the LGBTQ+ community. I'm not trying to attack any individuals with this work, and instead show the development of a deeply flawed and homophobic character into a better individual. Some of the content in the story is rooted from my own struggles with internalized homophobia and religion as well.
> 
> Lastly, please be mindful of the content warnings before reading. Please don't subject yourself to difficult media when in a temperamental or fragile mental state. However, I do appreciate all of you who read this, and I hope that my writing might provide a bit more perspective on issues that members of the LGBTQ+ community or people in general face. Constructive criticism is greatly appreciated!

Jacob felt his car slow to a crawl as he turned off of the freeway and into a quiet neighborhood. Rain pounded against his windshield, the scraping sound of wipers whipping back and forth across his vision filling his ears over the cold radio static. He was headed home, after surviving halfway through his first semester at college. It wouldn't be much of a reunion. His parents were away, and Jacob hadn't talked to his sister in over a year. All that was left of his family was a dark two-story home, its outline cut clearly out of the softly glowing sky. Jacob parked the car in the empty driveway and killed the ignition. Despite his confident nature, Jacob felt a pressing sense of anticipation, accompanied by the heavy weight of dread. As he walked up to the front of his home, his keys felt heavy in his hand. He took a deep breath, and pounded on the doorknocker. The home's only response was the sound of his knocks echoed throughout the empty rooms. Jacob stood on the doorstep a while longer before trying the doorknob. It rattled fruitlessly, and so Jacob searched his keys in the palm of his hand, while his eyes were still fixed on gazing through the window by the door. There was no movement inside; it was still, unmoving, as though Jacob was trying to enter a monument, not the vivacious home he recalled as a child. This place was a mausoleum. There would be no change, no benefit, no hope that could come from returning here. In his mind Jacob turned to leave, as he turned the key and cracked the door open and stepped inside.

The porchlight reached only halfway through the entrance hallway, the rest remained obscure by darkness, and Jacob had little guarantee that it was still there anymore. Fumbling with his pockets, Jacob brought out a dim flashlight and walked forward. To his left was the bathroom, to his right were the stairs. Ahead of him he could see the kitchen and living room. They were barren and sparse, as though his parents had been prepared to sell the home, turning their beloved living space into nothing more than a product. It didn't feel like anyone lived here, and Jacob had a growing feeling that he was unwelcome here. Swallowing his fear, Jacob called for his sister

"Elaine... Elaine?"

His words echoed hopelessly throughout the house. His only response was the sound of a door creaking open slowly behind him - startled, he whirled around, and recognized that the office door upstairs was wide open, like a mouth inviting its prey to unwittingly stumble inside. Jacob climbed the stairs, his poor state of health becoming clear to him during the strained activity. Entering the office, he met a source of light different than his flashlight. The computer screen glowed with a soft luminosity, and Jacob felt drawn to it like a moth to the flame. It was an old system, the bulky computer screen causing the air in front of it to buzz along with its static. Suddenly, the screen flashed, covering the room in darkness before struggling to life again. It must be the old wiring of the home, Jacob thought. There was a short article shown on the display, and even though Jacob felt there were more pressing matters to deal with, he began reading.

"-similar results have been documented in a lab, where fat was wrapped within a cloth and exposed to a gentle flame. As expected, the fat fueled the flame, suggesting that such a system could burn for over 12 hours. This phenomenon has been dubbed the Wick Effect, where clothing acts as a sort of wick while human fat acts as a wax, fueling a slow-burning flame. This theory works fairly well in explaining the death of Mary Reeser, along with many other similar cases."

Jacob felt sick imagining such a gruesome cause of death, but his intrigue encouraged him to scroll down, reading along further.

"The flames were reported to be burning several hours after the time of death. The evidence seems to tell the story of Mary's initial struggle against the flame, before finally embracing the embers that spread across her entire body. The coroner advised that, should one find themselves engulfed in flame, a peaceful death can only be found by surrendering to the pain and-"

He wanted to stop reading, but the page kept scrolling, taking no input from Jacob's control of the mouse.

"In an exclusive interview with Mary, our reporter documented her description of the gorey scene. 'I screamed for what felt like hours,' she stated, 'until I finally remembered that no one was going to hear me.' Despite what she had suffered, the reporter described that Mary had quite the jovial nature, saying that she 'knew she deserved such a torturous death, and that acceptance rea-"

A sickening feeling that Jacob had felt in his stomach grew, spreading throughout his body and clouding his mind. He didn't want to read anymore. He didn't want to think about it anymore. He felt under the desk until his hand grasped the power cord, and pulled hard. The screen shut off, but the computer continued to whine and screech. Life slowly began to return to the screen, as though an image was still burned into the pixels of the display.

"-similar results have been documented in hell, where the gluttonous sins of bastards wrapped in a veneer of humanity were exposed to the serving of justice. As I expected, the sin intensified the pain of the flame, suggesting such a system could burn for eternity. This phenomen-"

Jacob tried to tear his eyes off the screen, but he felt transfixed, rooted in place until the ritual was complete.

"-stories passed down for generations immortalize the story of Elaine, who called out for help, though she could not be heard beyond the pits of sulfur. Among the names she called, she never called your name, Jacob. She knows you don't care. She knows you hate her. Why do you hate me, Jacob? Why-"

Tears streamed down his face, his whole body hot with a mix of anxiety and rage. Jacob grabbed the computer screen and lifted it up, tossing it across the room. The sound of the glass display shattering was more akin to the cracking of human bones. Jacob watched as a pool of blood formed around the wrecked device, his nostrils burning with the stench of death and rot. Entrails poured out of the hole in the screen, as though its chest had been slit open and its guts were spilling out. Jacob panicked, rushing out of the office and out into the hall, his eyes still stinging with the shock of gore. 

Still dazed, Jacob moved across the upstairs hall to the door that sealed his sister's room. He knocked on the door lightly, his body still shaking with confusion and fear. No response. He turned the doorknob slowly, and walked into the room. While the rest of the house remained dark, moonlight poured into Elaine's room, giving Jacob a clear view of his sister's body lying comatose on the floor. He approached the body slowly, still in a haze, and put his hand on her back. It was cold to the touch, and Jacob feared that the simple act of contact would cause the frigid chill of death to run up his arm and stop his heart. Jacob backed away.

Bits and pieces of Elaine's life were scattered about the room, jarringly different from the dead body that lied in the middle of it all. To try and take his mind out of shock and his heart out of grief, Jacob made his way around the room. Posters of bands that Jacob had never heard of lined one wall. It made Jacob feel uncomfortable; he had never really listened to much outside of hymnals and choir music. What had these people been singing to his sister all this time? Moving on, he stood in front of a tall bookshelf. There were plenty of series that she had been obsessed with back in middle school, that she would tell Jacob about for hours on end. Up above them were nonfiction books, which didn't surprise Jacob; Elaine had always been well read. The top shelf confirmed what Jacob had feared, however. Her old bible was accompanied by a copy of "On the Origin of Species", and several books by Richard Dawkins. The Qoran sat next to them, covering a few Buddhist self-help books. The news shouldn't have been surprising to Jacob. She stopped going to a church while Jacob was still home; she'd join them for prayer, but something had felt different. She wanted to talk to everyone else, but not God. He felt lied to, even if he was only ever lying to himself. Surely, she had died a Christian. She must've repented, called out to God in her final moments, right? Finally, Jacob moved and sat down in front of his sister's desk, resting his head in his hands. He felt conflicted; he wanted to pray, to call out to God to guide him in the right direction, but he couldn't find the words to begin. On the desk, a picture of him and Elaine remained preserved in a white frame. It was the last picture they'd taken together before he left for college. They had grown apart, but the gravity of leaving for a long time changed them both. At least just for that day, they were kids again, worried about when they'd see each otheronce more. It tore Jacob apart to think it was the last time they had really spent time together, so he chose not to think about it instead. In the picture adjacent to it, Elaine stood adjacent to some girl Jacob didn't recognize. She was smiling brightly, her face filled with life and joy. The two of them held flags with color patterns that Jacob had seen before, but under rather different circumstances. Why was she so happy? And why did Jacob feel so... hurt?

Jacob moved towards the door once again, unsure what to do next. Is Elaine really... dead? Did he need to call the cops? No, if he did, he would no doubt be questioned for hours on end, perhaps even accused of murder under the strange and mysterious circumstances Jacob found himself in. He couldn't deal with something like that, not right now. Jacob wanted to feel sad, to cry over the corpse of his brethren, his childhood best friend. But the sadness was overcome by a boiling sickness, rooted deep in Jacob's chest. He wanted to scream. He wanted to tear the room apart, get rid of everything that surrounded him and get his childhood friend back. He wanted the Elaine that went to church and spent time with him and chased boys on the playground and didn't ask questions and never changed, an Elaine that had been dead long before the body that was behind him. How long ago had she turned her back on God? How long had she been whoring herself out to other women? His fists were clenched with hate, for the monster that had crawled inside his sister's skin and made everything so difficult for him. She deserved it, he thought to himself. For leaving him behind, for leaving the whole family behind, to pursue a life of sin and revelry. She deserves to suffer for what she’s done. She deserves to burn. She deserves every second. She deserves every hour. She deserves an eternity. She

Placed her hand on Jacob’s turned shoulder. She let it simmer and singe, causing his flesh to boil, bubble and crack. Elaine - no, she - leaned in close to Jacob’s ear, her whole face consumed in still-burning hellfire, and whispered. Her throat was a desert; her voice came out dry, raspy and harsh, the stench of smoke following each one of her words.

“How long must I burn until… til you forgive me, brother?”

Jacob turned around and faced the monster head-on, although he had no courage left to do anything but stare in horror. Every part of her body was lit aflame. Her skin was shriveled and charred, but fire still poured out from under the cracks. She crept towards Jacob, her arm outstretched, reaching to touch his face. Jacob tried to speak, to tell her to back off, but he found that his throat was parched, and it was difficult to even breathe in the first place. He felt his heel hanging over the edge of the stairway as he took another step back. There was nowhere to run. The woman lunged toward him, her hand grasping Jacob by the throat and lifting him into the air with inhuman strength. Her grip was like a searing hot iron collar clasped around Jacob’s neck. He could do nothing but hopelessly flail his limbs as he stared into the creature’s eyes, petrified.

“This is not your home… any longer. Get. Out!!!”

The creature tossed Jacob like a ragdoll, and his head hit the floor at the bottom of the stairs with a catastrophic crash. Jacob’s vision darkened, faded, and became still.

Jacob regained his senses sometime after, certain that whatever had just transpired was a delusion. Just a Freudian hallucination brought on by the stress of returning home and seeing family. Elaine was fine. His parents were fine. Jacob was fine. Everything was… okay. The house was still dark, preserved with unusual tidiness, but Jacob decided not to worry about it. He wandered into the bathroom, and decided to splash some cold water on his face. That, he thought, would help bring him back to sanity. Maybe he could have a good laugh about it afterwards. “You won’t believe the nightmare I had right after coming home,” he told Elaine in his mind. “I crashed out on the floor, and dreamt you were…” Jacob realized that perhaps it was a bit too dark to be horrifying.

“You’re gonna need to face the truth, Jacob.”

He looked up, and was met with nothing more than his own reflection in the mirror. Worry began to set in once again. Maybe what he had experienced wasn’t some sudden delusion. He was beginning to think he might’ve lost his mind. Was it possible the devil had lured Jacob into some trap, to pit his mind against him, to tear from him any shred of faith he had left?

“Look down.”

There was blood on his hands. His fingers were drenched in it, and it ran off his nails and into the bathroom sink. But he didn’t feel any pain. The blood wasn’t his, certainly. And yet he was covered in it. For a moment Jacob was too concerned to do anything; any action might spread the sanguine fluid across the countertop and incriminate him as a killer, a murderer, a monster. But he couldn’t let it continue to drip so menacingly from his fingers. He grabbed the faucet handles and stuck his hands under the running water. He could deal with the mess later.

“You’re unclean, Jacob. Do you know what your hands have done? Are you ready to remember?”

Jacob’s mouth wasn’t moving, but  _ his _ mouth was. The reflection in the mirror was taunting him, teasing him, testing his faith. Jacob began to feel sick to his stomach. The blood seemed to keep pouring off of his hands, staining the white sink bowl into revolting maroon. He tried rubbing his hands together, wiping them on a towel, letting them dry in the air. Nothing worked. The blood continued to run off of his hands, while his reflection smiled at him with glee.

“You’re infested, Jacob. You’re corrupted with sin and filth. You try and hide it under your layer of skin but anyone who looks closely can see it. God sees it, Jacob. He knows everything you’ve done.”

His hands were shaking from the chill of the water, and as Jacob pulled them to his face he saw bumps under the thin layer of blood. Bumps that moved around under the coating of crimson red that covered his hands. Jacob wanted to vomit. He dug his nails into his hands and clawed desperately, trying to tear the parasites out of his hands and flush them down the drain. He rubbed and scraped and beat his hands against the countertop when all else fails. Jacob was still unclean.

“I was there too. I know when you went over to the Frat house with your friends. ‘Engaging in the college lifestyle,’ you called it. Do you remember how many red cups you grabbed off the counter? You don’t even know who poured the bubbling alcoholic toxins, you just drank and drank. And with every cup you touched, more sins crept under your skin and turned your body into a hive. You disgust me, Jacob.”

It wasn’t working. Nothing was working. The bumps were moving rapidly under his skin, and his whole body was shaking with paranoia. He needed something stronger. He reached under the bathroom counter into the cupboard and grabbed out everything he could. Bleach, glass cleaner, detergent, borax, vinegar, the list went on. Each bottle had fresh blood from his hands running down the side. In a frenzy he clogged the drain and began to pour every product into the sink, the fumes from the dangerous mix of chemicals bombarding his nose.

“I was there when you touched yourself, Jacob, thinking about the blonde girl in the dorm next to yours. I saw how you humiliated yourself, letting your lust take over, and exposing yourself to the filth of the Earth. You deserve every ounce of shame and guilt you feel. You need to fester in it, relish in it, rot in it. Only then can you become clean, Jacob. The Lord demands that you become clean!”

His reflection screamed, and Jacob took a deep gasp for air, and held it. He plunged his hands into the frothing brew of chemicals in the sink, and bit his tongue. Tears streamed down his face as the cold burning sensation of flesh melting off bone consumed his arms. He needed to be rid of his past, to start anew, but all he could think about was the pain of the present. He writhed and screamed and struggled but the reflection seemed to keep his hands submerged in the sink until the process was complete. Jacob couldn’t say when the pain finally subsided, but at some point, he was finally able to draw his arms away from the sink. Where there had once been flesh and blood, all that remained was pearly white bone, held together by weakened joints. Jacob couldn’t feel anything. What remained of his hands hung limply from his arms, and Jacob felt stunned by the overwhelming sense of powerlessness that now took hold in him. He wanted to call for help, to have someone else there to help him. But he was alone in the bathroom, except for his perfected reflection smiling back at him.

Jacob struggled fruitlessly to turn the knob and break out of the bathroom, but his hands were limp and useless, and his body was too shaky to manipulate the handle. And so he slumped over onto the floor, defeated. He didn’t want to be clean, preserved, a skeleton hung for display by some greedy creature to polish and marvel at. Jacob wanted control over his own life again. He didn’t care if that meant he was doomed to lead himself to his own death. He just wanted to live, to make mistakes, to become one with the soil of the Earth and not have to spend every second torturing himself to become clean. Jacob sobbed, begging for someone to come help him. Begging to be let free back out into the world, to leave this cell he had created for himself behind and truly move on.

The door creaked open. Jacob struggled to his feet. His hands were recovered with flesh and blood, as though nothing had happened. The bathroom was as clean and preserved as it had been before. But Jacob felt anything but the same. He pulled the door open and moved cautiously out into the hallway once more. Although he was physically sound, he possessed an overwhelming need to sit down and rest. Jacob made his way to the kitchen, searching for a drink. He opened the pristine cabinets, and found plates, glasses, and cutlery, all neatly organized. What he didn’t find was a single drop of alcohol to drink; he generally strived to stay sober, but the urge to break his own moral code was tempting. In fact, there didn’t seem to be anything to drink in the first place. Searching through the pantry, he discovered that all the jars, boxes, and containers were empty. There was not a single bite of crumb in the house, as though famine had swept through and replaced sustenance with empty bottles and hunger. To confirm his theory that perhaps his family had fallen on hard times and weren’t able to make their own meals, Jacob walked over to the fridge. A blast of cold air hit him as the door seal broke and the hinges of the fridge swung open. The blue synthetic light was nearly blinding compared to the darkness of the kitchen, but it couldn’t disguise the horrific sight that awaited Jacob’s discovery. A bone-white skull hung in the center of Jacob’s view, and his eyes stayed locked on it as thought to pretend the mound of guts and flesh that lay just below it didn’t exist. But the rotten stench of it all confirmed Jacob’s worst fears. Haphazardly crammed into the metallic coffin was the remnants of a calf, torn open and disemboweled in a gruesome display of sacrifice. Nauseated, Jacob stumbled backwards, finding himself grasping for the support of the kitchen table. He managed to find a seat to collapse into, in spite of his shocked state, and focused on calming his nerves.

**“It’s not too late to come back, Jacob.”**

At the other end of the dining room sat Jacob’s Father, although his presence seemed to take up the entirety of the end of the table. Jacob wanted to find comfort at finally being with his family again, with someone who had known Jacob for so long and would understand that the events transpiring under this cursed roof were of no fault of his. But it was never like that between Jacob and his father. Instead, any moment spent in his Father’s domain was more like a trial, with no jury, lawyers, or witnesses. Just the judge and the guilty.

**“You’ve been travelling for so long. Let me offer you rest.”**

It was true that his body felt weak, tired and faint. A plate rushed along the surface of the table towards Jacob, although it seemed like the wooden boards were stretching out longer and longer, pushing Jacob away from where his Father sat. Upon the plate was a grotesque pile of gore, which Jacob felt almost desensitized to, after all that he had experienced. The meat was rotten, long past any point where a modern creature could stand to peck at it. It was old, molding and best left forgotten.

**“Eat of my flesh, Jacob, and become whole.”**

His hunger was growing, and his hands clutched at a fork and knife instinctively, although his repulsion at the meal remained strong. A clear portion of his mind rebelled against his growling stomach, recognizing the meal as a toxin. Still, the gnashing hunger grew.

**“This meal is for you.”**

He felt a pressure in the room grow, as if the very air around him was crushing in his stomach and making his starvation evident. Along either side of the ever-expanding table, shadowy figures walked over and took their seats. They were all staring at Jacob. The feast couldn’t begin unless everyone was ready. Jacob was holding them back.

**“Do not test the Lord, Jacob.”**

And still, the shard of logic remaining in Jacob’s mind held out against his ravished desire. His gut had become a living beast, wreaking havoc on his body. There was an empty maw dividing his legs and chest, a void that needed to be filled and cleansed and made whole; an emptiness that existed only to be ordered to worship and submit and obey. But as the shadows began their barbaric dining, Jacob remained resolute. His senses did not deceive him. His eyes retained their ability to pick out every spot of mold. His nose wrenched under the stench of rot and disorder. His tongue rolled back in his mouth out of fear and disgust. Jacob could eat the ancient lies no longer.

**“Then the wrath of hell awaits you, Apostate.”**

Jacob felt the chair fall out from under him, but it didn’t stop there. No floor was waiting for him to catch his fall. Around him, the familiar sites of his family’s home disappeared, replaced with confusion and chaos. Jacob felt his body hit solid rock as the certainty of reality struck him, and he felt as though he had to begin again. Around him lay pieces of his previous life, rotating and reflecting in such a way to make them nearly unrecognizable. Questions drifted above Jacob’s head, but he had neither the strength nor the will to face them.  _ Without a foundation, a faith, I am nothing _ , Jacob realized. There was nothing left for him to do but wallow and watch as entropy continued to untangle order, as the world went by while Jacob wished he had a way to understand it.

Jacob couldn’t say when exactly he felt his body begin to move across the kitchen floor, but he didn’t have much care for the time. He could hear a door opening, followed by the cool rush of outside air. A curious piece of his mind wanted to struggle to look up, to become aware of his surroundings and his assailant, but his body remained numb and limp. Instead, he focused on the sensations that remained: the rhythmic beating of water droplets sliding down the roof, the strumming, swaying strings of grass underneath him, the howling, shrieking, expressive wind singing to Jacob a song he could not understand. At once, he was struck with the hidden significance of it all. It had all been happening, even while Jacob had cowered and feared and snuck his way through life. The world had always just been there, and Jacob had been a fool for labelling it insignificant, preposterous, under the assumption of an infinite afterword.

The harsh sensation of a spade meeting fresh dirt filled Jacob’s left ear. Perhaps it had always been there, digging away, if Jacob had ever bothered to listen. But now, it was deafening, beating down Jacob’s eardrums with the strength of proximity. Then, at last, he felt his body get pushed aside suddenly by an unforeseen force, and Jacob fell six feet deep. A wooden lid blocked his final view of the sky, before he was granted the opportunity to begin to bid the universe farewell.

The sounds of the world and the song of the environment were hushed now. Jacob was struck with the pressing sense of loneliness and isolation. There were no acquaintances to walk by his eyesight, no friends to visit for a while in his ears. Jacob was simply alone. There with the nothingness, the absence, the void. Jacob didn’t feel scared, however. He didn’t feel peaceful, either. He didn’t feel much at all. Is this what dying is really like, Jacob pondered. There was no bright light reaching down to greet him, no holy fanfare to recount his glories. Nor was there any flaming pits below him to taunt and scorch Jacob’s back. There was nothing except the vast emptiness of space, the eternal isolation that had surrounded every action. Jacob wasn’t ready to be comfortable with it. His mind continued to gesture futilely back to his parent’s home, to the mowed grass and picket fence that surrounded it. He couldn’t let them go; instead, he was gripping onto every memory, wishing to continue his story. His whole body was tensed with rebellion and refusal. If he had known the everlasting loneliness that awaited him, he would’ve lived differently. He would’ve taken the time to know people as well as he knew himself, so they may accompany him in his mind. He would’ve held onto the photographs of moments which he could replay again and again. He would’ve spun stories to tell to the stars and the dust and the planets that encompassed him. He didn’t need to be perfect, to clear the conditions for some conclusitory ending. He just needed a year, a month, even a day, to live for the sake of living. Jacob’s entire body was shaking with regret and frustration. He refused to let this wooden casket block him from everything he had yet to do. He scraped his nails along the splinters and pried himself from the cold, placid grasp of death. He would fight for every second of every hour of every day if it really held such significance. Jacob would live a life worth living. He would love and feel and bring with him the world he constructed to keep him company in the casket. This time, he would-

Jacob’s frantic pounding finally caused the closet door to give way, and with a climactic crash, he found himself standing alone in the hallway once again. It had all come rushing back to Jacob, his senses, his emotions, his existence. It felt as though Jacob had travelled back to the beginning, reentered the front of the house once more. But this time, Jacob was different. He ascended the stairs to the second floor. There, a ladder leading to the attic awaited him. He hadn’t been up there in a long, long time. It was always the best spot in the house for hide-and-seek. Whenever he and his sister would play, she would always head up to the attic, and they would pretend like the ladder wasn’t an obvious giveaway. Jacob would wander the house, acting confused, lost, and surprised, while his sister giggled to herself in delight. The game would end when Jacob was ready to end the game and see her again. The game would only end when Elaine had let out her last giggle, and the joke they were playing on each other would end. Jacob was ready for the end of the cruel game that he had launched on himself the moment he stepped through the front door of the home. He was silly to pretend like nothing had changed, to wander around the home looking for a way to move everything back, when it was him that needed to change. 

“You found me, Jacob.”

Elaine’s silhouette was cut out of the softly glowing window at the back of the attic. Her expression was hidden, but her body remained stoic and firm.

“I’m sorry, Elaine. When I left, I thought this house would always just be waiting for me whenever I returned. I didn’t expect it to change. I didn’t expect  _ you _ to change, to become someone other than who I always thought you were,” Jacob began.

“All I did was become who I wanted to be. I’m happier now, Jacob. Don’t try and make me a monster that I’m not,” her words remained cold, unwavering.

“Elaine, I don’t need you to be anything else. I thought I could continue on through the rest of my life with a static family and an ancient mindset. And I was wrong. That stillness was hurting you and I know now that it was hurting me too. So, I’m sorry. All I want you to be… is my sister,” Jacob finished. He felt a pair of arms wrap around him into a hug, and the isolation of death seemed to grow so far away.

“I missed you, you know. I was waiting for so long for you to change,” Elaine sighed. She took Jacob’s hand, and the two walked toward the attic window. Together they pushed the panes open, and looked out upon the house that they had survived together. The rain continued to pour down Jacob’s face, washing away the tears that had stained it before. Here, Jacob thought, he could start over once again. He could come to this attic and look out over the neighborhood whenever he needed his distance. From here, Jacob could start to live a life of change.


End file.
